We Gotta Get Out of This Place
by PandemoniumofSounds
Summary: In the aftermath of Jak's victory over the Dark Makers there are hard choices to make. Kiera can't take Haven City anymore, Torn tries to rebuild,and Jak and Ashelin's excuses are falling on deaf ears.


A/N: We all know the drill. I own nothing – not the characters, the setting, or even this song here. This story will primarily follow Kiera, Jak, Daxter, Torn and Ashelin in the aftermath of the third game as they try to decide what to do with their lives.

In this dirty old part of the city,  
where the sun refused to shine  
people tell me there ain't no use in tryin'.

Now, my girl you're so young and pretty,  
And one thing I know is true,  
You'll be dead before your time is due!

You know it . . .

We gotta get out of this place  
If it's the last thing we ever do!  
We gotta get out of this place  
'cause girl, there's a better life for me and you . . .

- The Animals. We Gotta Get Outta This Place.

"All I'm sayin'," Torn drawled as he brought the blue bottle to his lips yet again, "Is fuck 'em!" He banged the bottle against the bar and Kiera jumped at the loud sound. "Fuck the both of 'em!" He paused, his forehead wrinkled in thought which, due to the night of heavy drinking had become no easy task, then added "Or don't fuck 'em. Whichever is worse."

"Y'know," Kiera said, her speech just starting to slur. "I would've thought that the captain of the Krimzon Guard could hold his liquor a little better than you." Honestly, if she had known he would be such a lightweight she would never have brought him to Crash n' Burn, the 'establishment' frequented by racers and their mechanics. It was the perfect dive to enjoy a few after a long day of tinkering with a troublesome engine or fin stabilizer with plenty of charred scrap parts welded to the dull metal walls and the fading pictures of past champions. And somehow, Bolt had managed to restore it to its dingy glory within two weeks of the Freedom Guard's victory.

"Don't drink much," he mumbled, staring morosely at his empty drink. Kiera gently took the bottle from him and motioned for Bolt, the barkeep. It had been Bolt who had helped her get a job in the arena when she had been dumped unceremoniously into this world. He'd been a top-notch wrench-jockey back in his day and said he knew talent when he saw it. Bolt was a stout older man with a thick gray beard, dark eyes and a broad, friendly grin and had once had a daughter who would have been about Kiera's age if she hadn't ended up on the wrong side of a Krimzon Guard 'block lock'.

"Hey, Bolt, my friend's bottle is malfunctioning. Think you can fix it?" She grinned as he came over, shaking his head.

"You don't think your 'friend' has had enough to drink?" Kiera knew that Bolt and everyone else in the bar knew who Torn was and appreciated their relative discreetness. Aside from a few surprised glances and long stares, people were keeping their distance. It reminded her of how things had been right after Jak had defeated Praxis and Kor, when her friends and co-workers first associated her with the hero. And then associated her with the villain. She was just lucky that Tok wasn't around to cause trouble. Assuming he'd survived since she'd last seen him two months ago.

"Don't tell me when I've had enough," Torn tried to stand up, but his feet slipped on the floor and he fell back onto his barstool. Kiera sighed and Bolt raised his bushy eyebrows.

"Not that it's any of my business, but shouldn't you kids be a little happier?" He asked, taking another bottle of liquor from behind the bar and popping it open. He handed it to Torn who snorted bitterly and began to down the drink. Keira dropped her gaze to her own drink and fervently wished for a moment she could just drown herself in it. He pointed at Torn "You just won the war that's been tearing the whole damn city apart for a year," he pointed at Kiera, "And your friend Jak is a hero again! And hey, I'm open again after three months off! If that don't cheer ya up then I don't know what will. Why're you two looking so fit to have your own funerals? For cripes sake, this is a happy time!"

"It is a happy time," Kiera quickly agreed and made a forced attempt to look cheerful. "And we are happy, Bolt, really. Don't worry, we're fine." Bolt looked anything but convinced, and Kiera was sure he would have said something, but another customer was hollering for him so he settled clucking his tongue and walking off.

"Damn," Torn growled. "Shoulda gotten 'nother one." He shook his empty bottle upside down and peered into the hole. Kiera sighed and got to her feet, gripping Torn's arm firmly. He looked at her blankly, "What?"

"Time to go," she said. "Bolt is gonna be back any minute now with questions and I don't wanna answer 'em any more than you do. So let's go."

"Where?" He spat and slapped his hand against the bar. "That bitch is gonna be back at the barracks. Why'd I wanna go back there? Huh?"

"Fine," she rolled her eyes. "You can stay at my place tonight. Just don't complain tomorrow when you're late for roll call or whatever you soldier boys call it." It was very doubtful that her father would be home this evening. He hadn't been home for the past few nights, spending his time at the meetings to determine how best to reintegrate the Wastelanders from Spargus who wished to return to Haven City. Or how to go about rebuilding Haven City. Or talking with Onin about how the sudden revelation of the true nature of the Precursors affected their work.

It had been so strange, at first, when Jak had returned her father to her. Kiera had been so obsessed with finding all of her loved ones that she had never thought about what to do with them once they were reunited. She wondered if her father had found it awkward to initially rely on the income and housing of his young daughter. The first time he had seen her modest apartment he had stopped just inside the doorway, surveyed the neat room with wide eyes, and then told her how proud he was of her.

"Your place?" Torn seemed confused, but nodded. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"It's not much, but it's . . ." she was going to say home, but her eyes stung and she simply guided Torn by the arm as they walked out of the Crash n' Burn and into the empty, filthy streets. The hell it was home. Home was half a millennia in the past. Home was Sandover Village and a hut that overlooked a gentle ocean. It was hard to accept that the same ocean waters she had spent her childhood swimming in was now the polluted murk that ran in the canals. "It's a place for you to pass out."

It was times like these, when there were still rogue Metal Heads lurking about the city, that made Kiera so very grateful for her proximity to the Arena and the Crash n' Burn. It hadn't always been that way, she had originally found herself living in the slums, but that was nearly three years ago and best not to think about. Especially while drunk and somewhat despondent. They made it back to her apartment safely despite drawing more than a few curious glanced from passerbys who were undoubtedly wondering why two of Haven City's saviors were half-staggering through the streets in the early evening. Torn fell onto the battered couch in the living room and was snoring loudly within seconds.

Kiera sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, gazing out the window at the ruined streets. The cleaning crews would be here soon, public locations had been granted priority over private ones, but for now it was too easy to see the bloodstains and litter across the flat stones. It had been one month since Jak had ended the war. Three weeks since she had been permitted to return to her apartment only to find it had been ransacked, most of her belongings destroyed and scorch marks on the walls. Two weeks since she had been asked to help restore the public transportation system to its former glory. Two days since Daxter had spilled the beans while on a bender. And six hours since Jak and Ashelin had 'fessed up to she and Torn.

And it had hurt. Like all hell, it had hurt. What she hadn't expect was Torn's reaction, but then, she had always assumed that his bad-ass attitude was genuine and that when he acted like he didn't give a rat's ass about anyone, he didn't give a rat's ass about anyone. Apparently he had given a rat's ass about Ashelin. And somewhere inside Kiera had experienced a deep sense of satisfaction when Torn had brought his fist squarely across Jak's jaw.

She had just stood there, gaping a little, too stunned to do anything except turn on her heel and walk out of the room. Then out of the building. And then, for some reason, Torn had been next to her, waves of rage radiating off of him, snarling about that ungrateful bitch and how they had gone to the goddamned Academy together and how he had once been able to trust her with vital secrets for the Underground, how the hell had this happened? So she took him to get drunk.

It was enough of an excuse for her to get a little drunk as well. To try not to think about the hellish past three years in this strange and terrible city. With the high metal walls and security checkpoints and the people. The air reeked of smog or charred flesh. Even the food tasted different. Her only consolation was that the zoomer she had invented on a whim and a bet that had saved the world five hundred years ago had obviously grown popular and advanced science. That was a fact to take a bit of pride in, and it had comforted her on dark nights when she had first arrived.

Well, it wasn't any damn comfort now. Kiera sank to the floor, wrapped her arms around her legs and let a nasty sneer twist her face. Three years. Two spent alone in an alien world, searching for her father, Daxter and Jak. Eleven months watching the city turn against Jak, watching friends die at the hands of one of the three factions, fearing that any moment might be her last, or that she would finally hear her father or one of her friends was dead. That horrible day when the Baron's palace collapsed . . .and then one month convinced that Jak was somewhere out in the desert. Dead. It had only been Ashelin's promise of the palmed homing beacon and promise to break Kiera's wrists and ankles if she did anything stupid that kept her from searching for him.

"Bastard," Kiera whispered. He had no idea what she had gone through just to survive in this place. He was too lost in his own bitterness and dark alter-ego. Some part of her was unable to blame him for what had happened, tried to remind her jealous side that Jak had been through some very difficult times and she should be more understanding. But her darker side snapped back that she had been "understanding" for three years. Either way, if it wasn't Jak, it was this blasted city. If they had stayed in Sandover Village things would have been better. Obviously fate was against her, but it would have been better. She would have been happier.

_And why shouldn't I be happy?_ Kiera thought, a wild idea starting to worm its way out of the back of her brain. She had been happy in Sandover Village. Why couldn't she still be happy in Sandover Village? She had built one Rift Rider – why not another? Yes, she had toyed with the idea before, of returning _home_ after she and the others would have already left for this place . . .but Jak had wanted to remain in Haven City. And she had wanted to be with Jak. Well, now it seemed like Jak didn't want to be with her, so why was she staying here? The more she thought about it, the stupider her remaining her seemed.

What was there her for her? Her father? He could always return with her – and even if he didn't, she knew there were people here to watch after him. She knew his work would keep him happy. Jak? He was with Ashelin and had a world to protect. Daxter? Ha, Daxter was happier here than he ever had been in Sandover Village thanks to Tess. So what was there? A war-torn wreck to spend the rest of her youth rebuilding? Metal Heads hiding in every shadow, ready to pounce and tear her apart? Friends dying in another rebellion? Dodging stray shots and feeling too numb to help a wounded child who's had its leg shot off? Fuck that!

Haven City had more than enough accomplished mechanics to reconstruct the public transportation system. And Vin had apparently escaped death by wiring himself into the city's computer system so she wouldn't have much to do when it came to getting the defense systems back online. But in the past – well, she was the creator of the zoomer, dammit! Better to go back and lend a hand in a time when there was real need for a mind like hers.

And Jak could just damn well stay here.

Resolve flooded her senses and Kiera rose and went to her cot. As she lay down, she quietly mumbled the mantra that she had said every single night before she went to bed since she had come here.

"I am not going to die here." Not now, not twenty years from now, not ever.


End file.
